The Tag Teaming

Clark’s superhuman stamina means he can keep you coming until you’re trembling, while Bruce times your orgasms like he’s strategizing a mission.

One holds you down while the other ruins you. Sometimes it’s Clark pinning your wrists above your head with no effort at all, sometimes it’s Bruce tying you up with silk and growling orders.

Bruce loves whispering filthy things in your ear while Clark makes you moan loud enough to shake the walls.

Positions & Play

They love you on your knees, Bruce fucking your throat while Clark fucks you from behind, each one making you choke and whimper for different reasons.

Bruce gets off on watching Clark stretch you open, muttering “look at you taking him so well” while he strokes himself, waiting his turn.

Clark adores missionary because he can look into your eyes, but Bruce? He prefers you bent over, ass red from his handprints. With both? You’re getting flipped around until you don’t know which way is up.

DP is absolutely on the table. Clark gentle and overwhelming, Bruce rough and relentless, you’re not lasting long.

Their Favorite “Games”

Bruce makes rules (“don’t cum until I say”), and Clark loves “accidentally” breaking them by making you lose control under his mouth or cock.

Clark has a thing for holding you in his lap, bouncing you on his cock while Bruce kneels between your legs and licks you both clean.

Bruce loves toys; vibrators, plugs, restraints. While Clark prefers to use his body, tongue, and strength. Together? Overstimulation city.

Their Roles with You

Bruce is your Daddy Dom, telling you exactly what to do and punishing you if you disobey.

Clark is your sweet Dom, showering you in praise and affection while still fucking you into the mattress.

They both love hearing you call them by different names… Daddy for Bruce, Sir or Good boy Clark when you’re feeling bratty (and yes, Bruce smirks every time you top Clark just a little).

Aftercare

Clark’s the one who scoops you up, bathes you, brushes your hair, makes sure you drink water.

Bruce runs damage control, checking every mark he left, applying ointment if they broke skin, giving you medicine for soreness, quietly stroking your back while Clark cuddles you close.

You end the night sandwiched between them, completely wrecked but utterly safe.

BirdFlash

The Dynamic

Dick and Wally are best friends first, which makes the whole relationship extra natural. You’re not caught between them, they love the idea of sharing, hyping each other up, and making you the center of attention.

It’s playful competitiveness 24/7. They’ll literally argue over who makes you moan louder, who can make you laugh harder, or who you cuddled longer last night.

They’re a perfect contrast in bed, Dick is sensual, deliberate, all control and teasing, while Wally is fast, messy, and overwhelming. Together? They keep you on the edge between soft worship and overstimulation.

It’s playful competitiveness 24/7. Their competitiveness absolutely bleeds into sex. Who makes you cum harder, who gets more moans out of you, who you cling to tighter

The Tag Teaming

One of them eats you out while the other makes out with you, keeping eye contact with each other over your body. Very smug, so shameless.

They love having you in the middle. One behind, one in front, and you don’t stand a chance, every nerve ending is getting attention.

Wally is addicted to speed. Fingering you so fast you can’t breathe, or eating you out until you’re crying. Meanwhile, Dick is the one who holds you down, murmuring “take it, sweetheart.”

They love edging you together. Dick holding you in place, whispering praise while Wally pulls away at the last second with a cheeky “oops, not yet.”

Positions & Play

Double penetration? Yeah, they’re curious enough and competitive enough to make it happen. Dick’s the one careful and steady while Wally is greedy and rough. You don’t walk for days.

Dick loves having you ride him while Wally mouths at your chest, thighs, neck… anywhere he can reach.

Wally’s favorite thing? Eating you out while Dick’s fucking you, he gets off on seeing you lose control twice over.

Their Favorite “Games”

Wally’s speed means he’ll vibrate his fingers or tongue just right, and Dick smirks because “that’s cheating, man.” You don’t care, you’re screaming.

They love overstimulation, switching places without warning so you don’t know who’s inside you, who’s touching you, just that you’re theirs.

Aftercare (because they’re good boys at heart)

Wally is out of bed in seconds, bringing water, snacks, a damp cloth. Dick keeps you tucked in his arms, kissing your face while you come down.

They both spoil the hell out of you afterward. Praise, cuddles, food, a bath - whatever you need.

JayRoy

The Dynamic

Jason is rough, possessive, mine mine mine.

Roy is playful, teasing, and loves making you laugh even when you’re falling apart.

Together? They’re absolute menaces, dirty talk, bruises, bite marks, and a whole lot of reckless passion.

The Tag Teaming

Roy loves watching Jason fuck you, smirking as he says “She’s not gonna last, Jay.” Jason growls back, “She’s gonna take it, aren’t you, baby?”

One of them is always using their mouth while the other’s inside you. Jason eating you out while Roy fucks you deep, or Roy sucking bruises into your chest while Jason pounds you into the mattress.

They switch roles constantly, you’ll never know if you’re gonna be split open, pinned down, or worshipped until it happens.

Positions & Play

They love you in the middle. Jason behind, Roy in front, and you’re overwhelmed in the best way.

Roy’s favorite? Eating you out while Jason sits back and watches, giving lazy orders like “make her scream, Harper.”

Jason’s favorite? Spreading you out across his lap while Roy kneels in front of you, so he can spank you raw and still watch Roy finger you until you cry.

DP is absolutely on the table, especially when Jason’s possessive streak flares. He wants to fill you completely so no one else ever can.

Their Favorite “Games”

Roy teases, light touches, slow kisses, “oops, not yet.” Jason punishes, rough thrusts, spanking, filthy growls in your ear.

They’re so vocal. Jason groans and growls, all filthy dirty talk. Roy’s a shameless moaner and loves narrating what’s happening, “God, she’s dripping, Jay. You feel that?”

They love overstimulation. Jason holding you down by the throat while Roy eats you out until you’re crying, or Roy fingering you open fast while Jason fucks your mouth.

Their Roles with You

Jason’s the protector/dominant,he likes knowing you’re completely his.

Roy’s the wild card, sometimes sweet, sometimes bratty, sometimes making you cum just to see Jason scowl and say “I wasn’t done with her yet.”

They both mark you- hickeys, bites, scratches. You’re not going anywhere without proof you’re theirs.

Aftercare

Jason runs hot and cold, he’ll growl through the sex, but afterward he’s the one carefully cleaning you up, pressing quiet kisses to every bruise he left.

Roy is pure softness, snacks, cuddles, jokes until you’re giggling in his arms.

You always end up tangled between them, Jason’s arm heavy over your waist while Roy strokes your hair.

TimKon

The Dynamic

Tim is calculating, obsessive, strategic. He loves control and knowing exactly how to unravel you.

Conner is enthusiastic, affectionate, big puppy energy, he just wants to please you, all strength and desperation.

Together? You’re the rope in a tug of war between “I’ll ruin you carefully” and “I’ll ruin you right now.”

The Tag Teaming

Tim is the one edging you until you’re sobbing, then nodding for Conner to finally let you cum, he’s a tease, but Conner never says no to giving you what you need.

Conner loves holding you up with that Kryptonian strength while Tim does filthy things to you, tying you up, playing with toys, whispering the dirtiest shit in your ear.

They’ll both watch each other with you. Tim gets off on directing Conner, and Conner gets off on seeing how wrecked you are between the two of them.

Positions & Play

Conner’s favorite: you riding him, bouncing in his lap while he grips your hips tight, and Tim kneeling behind you, kissing your neck, whispering, slipping his fingers between your legs.

Tim’s favorite: you on your stomach, Conner holding your wrists to the mattress, while he fucks you slow and deep until you’re begging for more.

DP is definitely happening here. Tim precise and slow, Conner greedy and desperate. You’re stretched, filled, and completely undone.

Their Favorite “Games”

Tim sets rules (“Don’t cum until I say”) and Conner loves watching you squirm to follow them, whispering encouragement while Tim smirks like the bastard he is.

They’ll absolutely roleplay “good cop/bad cop” in bed, Tim threatening you with punishment if you disobey, Conner softly begging you to be good for them.

Tim LOVES toys. Vibes, plugs, cuffs. Conner LOVES using his strength, pinning you with one hand, holding you in the air while he fucks you.

Mutual obsession: they both love marking you. Hickeys, scratches, bruises. Tim neat and hidden, Conner messy and obvious.

Their Roles with You

Tim is the cold, calculating dom, the type to make you cry just from denial, then kiss your tears away.

Conner is the pleaser dom, he wants you to feel good, to cum as much as possible, to know how much he worships you.

Together, they’re devastating. Tim pushes you to the edge, Conner makes sure you fall apart in the sweetest way.

Aftercare

Tim insists on checking every mark, soothing lotion over red skin, muttering soft apologies against your hair.

Conner tucks you against his chest, feeds you snacks, kisses you all over until you’re giggling.

Sandwich cuddles are mandatory, you between Tim’s quiet heartbeat and Conner’s warm chest, their arms tangled around you.

DamiJon

The Dynamic

Damian is intense, possessive, commanding. He has that control freak streak, and in bed it shows. He wants everything just so, and he thrives on making you beg.

Jon is sweet, eager, devoted. He’s the pleaser, always wanting to touch, taste, and worship you until you can’t take it anymore.

Together? They balance each other frighteningly well, Damian pushes, Jon soothes, and you’re their battlefield.

The Tag Teaming

Damian takes his time, slow, deliberate thrusts, cruel edging. While Jon overwhelms you with his strength and eagerness, eating you out until you’re sobbing or fucking you until you see stars.

They love having you in the middle, Jon holding you up like you weigh nothing, Damian using you however he pleases, his mouth against your throat whispering filth in your ear.

Damian loves ordering Jon around in bed- “faster,” “hold her still,” “don’t let her cum until I say.” Jon lives for it, grinning like he’d follow every command.

Positions & Play

Jon’s favorite: you straddling him, bouncing on his cock while he grips your waist, his big hands guiding you, his mouth sucking marks into your chest. Damian kneels behind you, smirking, stroking you or slipping a toy in just to watch you fall apart.

Damian’s favorite: you tied down, blindfolded, Jon between your thighs worshipping you with his tongue until you’re shaking, and Damian calmly stroking your hair, making you say his name before you cum.

DP? Definitely, Damian taking control, Jon filling you up with his strength. You don’t survive it without your legs giving out.

Their Favorite “Games”

Damian thrives on denial, holding a vibrator against you until you’re crying for release, only to pull it away. Jon swoops in with praise, begging for you to cum because he can’t stand to see you in tears.

They love overstimulation. Jon’s super-speed tongue/fingers + Damian’s cock = you’re crying, screaming, trembling while they smirk at each other over your ruined body.

Damian dirty talks like it’s a weapon, sharp, filthy, degrading. Jon praises you to death, telling you how good you are, how beautiful you look falling apart. Together? You’re torn between heaven and hell.

Their Roles with You

Damian = strict dom. Expect commands, punishment, and possessiveness.

Jon = pleaser dom. He worships you, dotes on you, and makes sure you know you’re adored.

Together = Good cop/Bad cop in bed. Damian makes you cry, Jon kisses the tears off your cheeks. Damian spanks you, Jon rubs your back while you sob against him.

Aftercare

Damian pretends he’s aloof but is meticulous in checking every mark, every bruise, massaging ointment into your skin with soft mutters in Arabic.

Jon is cuddles, snacks, kisses everywhere. He’ll wrap himself around you like a big blanket, warm and unshakable.

You always fall asleep tangled between Damian’s steady heartbeat and Jon’s giant body heat.

RoyWally

The Dynamic

Roy is filthy, reckless, and playful. He loves getting you messy, marked up, and begging.

Wally is teasing, fast, and greedy. He wants you as many times as possible, as loud as possible.

Together? They egg each other on, laughing at how ruined you are and competing to see who can get you off more.

The Tag Teaming

They thrive on taking turns, Roy bending you over, spanking you raw while Wally fingers you with that impossible speed until you collapse.

One goes down on you while the other’s in your mouth, trading cocky comments like “she moaned louder for me, dude” while you can barely breathe.

They love spit-roasting you. Wally fucking your throat while Roy pounds you from behind, both groaning about how perfect you feel.

Positions & Play

Roy’s favorite: you sprawled on his lap, crying from overstimulation, while Wally kneels between your legs and makes you cum again with his tongue in seconds.

Wally’s favorite: you riding him while Roy kneels behind you, kissing your neck, tweaking your nipples, whispering filthy encouragement until you’re crying out for both of them.

DP is absolutely on the menu. They’re competitive enough to insist you can handle both, and smug enough to prove it right.

Their Favorite “Games”

Roy loves dirty talk and degradation—“Look at you, baby, fucked dumb on us”, while Wally piles on the teasing praise, “You’re so good for us, sweetheart, c’mon, give us another one.”

Wally uses his speed to absolutely wreck you, fast thrusts, vibrating fingers, quick kisses all over your body. While Roy slows it down just to edge you cruelly.

They LOVE pushing you into overstimulation. One won’t stop even after you’ve cum, because the other eggs him on: “C’mon, she can take another. Right, baby?”

Their Roles with You

Roy = filthy dom/brat tamer. He thrives on making you blush, beg, or roll your eyes before he ruins you.

Wally = playful dom/pleaser. He’s cheeky, greedy, and obsessed with making you cum as much as possible.

Together = chaos doms. They’ll laugh at how wrecked you are, but it’s all love and worship underneath.

Aftercare

Wally zips away to grab you snacks, water, maybe even a smoothie because “you need energy, babe.”

Roy is lazy but thorough, cleaning you up, pulling you into his chest, muttering soft reassurances against your hair.

They both tangle you in bed, leaving hickeys everywhere you can’t hide them, because they love when everyone knows you’re theirs.

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You pictured the toothbrush in their bathroom, the shampoo you had bought once and never had to replace yourself because Dick noticed when the bottle ran low. You pictured the drawer in Dick’s dresser that had started as a place for an emergency shirt after a rainstorm and somehow become home to leggings, socks, sleep shorts, bras, and enough underwear that Wally had once texted you from the laundry room in a panic to ask if the black lace thing could go in the dryer.

He had followed the message with seven question marks, three sweating emojis, and a separate apology that only said: I’M BEING RESPECTFUL BUT ALSO I AM CONFUSED BY FABRIC.

You had laughed so hard you had almost dropped your phone in the sink.

You lived nearby. You slept over often enough that the doorman barely blinked when you came in. You had your own apartment, your own bills, your own life, but the gravity of Dick and Wally’s place had become familiar. Safe. There were two bedrooms, technically. Wally’s room existed, even if it held more laundry baskets and half-disassembled equipment than any reasonable adult man should own. Dick’s room had the biggest bed, which had become everyone’s argument for ending up there whenever a movie ran late or one of you had a bad day and did not want to sleep alone.

Nothing had ever happened in that bed.

That was not for lack of wanting.

You were not stupid. You knew what attraction felt like when it sat under your ribs and refused to behave. You knew what it meant when Dick came out of the shower with a towel low on his hips and your brain forgot the English language for three to five business days. You knew what it meant when Wally sprawled across the couch in sweatpants and an old Keystone State shirt, hair still damp, one ankle hooked over yours like casual contact was a form of breathing.

You also knew what it meant to be careful.

They were your best friends. They were Nightwing and the Flash. They trusted you with their identities, their schedules, their emergency contacts, and the strange civilian pieces of a life built around impossible work. You knew why Dick disappeared during galas, what comm chatter sounded like through a half-open bedroom door, and which cabinet held the protein bars Wally claimed tasted fine because his standards were a public health crisis.

You were not part of the fight, but you were part of the aftermath. You knew how to leave lights on without making it look like waiting. You knew how to ask if a night had gone badly without using the word dangerous. You knew how to sit beside them afterward and let the room be quiet until one of them came back to himself enough to make a joke.

It made lines strange.

Evan laughed at something on his phone, then remembered you existed and put it face down with a look that was probably meant to seem apologetic. “Sorry. Work.”

“You said that,” you said.

“Yeah. Big project. Everyone wants a piece of me right now.” He smiled as if inviting you to be impressed. “You know how it is.”

You did, unfortunately. You knew exactly how it was to sit across from someone who liked the idea of being observed but had very little interest in looking back. Evan had been charming for the first twenty minutes. He had asked about your job, your favorite restaurants, the neighborhood. Then he had asked about your friends.

Not all your friends.

Just the two men whose names came up too easily because you were too used to mentioning them.

Dick had picked you up from work after your car battery died. Wally had helped you build the shelves in your living room, which mostly meant taking over halfway through and then making you pretend to be impressed when one of them leaned left. Dick knew a place with the best soup dumplings. Wally had an opinion about every ice cream shop within a five-mile radius. Dick said this. Wally did that. Dick and Wally, Wally and Dick, their names folded into your life with the intimacy of muscle memory.

Evan had noticed.

At first, he had teased. Then he had probed. Then he had made a joke about you keeping “two guys on retainer,” and your smile had gone stiff enough that a better man would have noticed.

Evan was not a better man.

“So these friends of yours,” he said, reaching for his drink. “They always this involved?”

“They’re my best friends.”

“Sure.” His mouth curved. “Just sounds intense.”

You looked at him for a long moment. There were a hundred things you could have said, and most of them would have been true enough to hurt. You could have said that intensity was not always a red flag. Sometimes it was two men who carried cities on their backs and still remembered to text you when the sidewalks froze. Sometimes it was remembering to leave your balcony unlocked, because Dick and Wally had both taught you that emergencies rarely cared about front doors. Sometimes it was a hand on the small of your back in a crowd, not to claim you, but to make sure you could leave if you needed to.

Instead, you said, “I don’t think this is working.”

Evan blinked. “What?”

“This.” You reached for your bag and stood before politeness could talk you into another twenty minutes of disappointment. “It was nice meeting you.”

His chair scraped as he stood too. “Wait, seriously? Because I asked about your friends?”

Because you asked like they were a problem, you thought. Because you said my name three times and made it sound less personal each time. Because I have spent years being known by men who notice everything and still pretend not to see the way they look at me, and somehow this is the loneliest I’ve felt all week.

“Take care, Evan.”

“You’re really just leaving?”

“Yes.”

Outside, the night had gone damp and silver with the threat of rain. Gotham did not do gentle weather. Even drizzle felt like it had a grudge. You stood beneath the restaurant awning long enough to order a car, then canceled it when the app told you the driver was twelve minutes away and the walk to Dick and Wally’s was eight.

Your phone buzzed before you reached the end of the block.

Dick: Date going okay?

You looked at the message and snorted despite yourself.

Wally, immediately after: DON’T ANSWER THAT IF YOU’RE MAKING OUT.

A pause, and then instantly another message: Actually answer with a thumbs-up so I know you’re alive but emotionally unavailable.

Dick: Please don’t listen to him.

Wally: Please listen to me specifically.

You typed with one hand as you walked.

You: Date ended. Heading to yours unless you’re both busy saving the world.

Dick answered almost immediately.

Dick: We’re home. Door’s unlocked.

Wally: Which means you are legally obligated to come in, eat something, and not touch the dumplings marked WALLY.

Dick: They’re not marked.

Wally: Emotionally they are.

You smiled down at your phone, and the ache of the evening shifted into something more familiar, which was not the same as easy. That was another problem. They could make you feel less alone from across the city with three stupid texts and a threat about dumplings.

The doorman let you in with a nod. Upstairs, the apartment glowed in the low, warm way it always did when they knew you were coming. The lamp near the couch was on, the kitchen light was dimmed, and the television had been muted on some nature documentary Wally watched with the intense investment of someone who had opinions about whether cheetahs were “respectably fast” or “coasting on branding.”

To anyone else, the apartment probably looked chaotic; to you, it was a map of old landings, bad nights, shared blankets, and quiet recoveries.

The faint scuff near the balcony door was from months ago, when Dick had landed badly enough to pretend the floor had offended him. The patched spot on the wall near the hall was from Wally accidentally vibrating through it after sneezing at superspeed. The blanket over the back of the couch was yours, bought during a cold snap because their apartment ran chilly and both of them had tried to offer you their hoodies at the same time.

Wally was upside down on the couch when you came in, one leg hooked over the back cushions, a takeout container balanced on his stomach with criminal confidence. Dick sat at the far end with his laptop open and one ankle crossed over his knee, looking less like Nightwing than he ever did in public and more like the man who sent you grocery reminders because he knew you forgot to eat when work got bad.

They both looked up.

Wally’s eyes moved over your face and softened at once. “Oh, I hate him.”

You paused with your hand still on the door. “You don’t know what happened.”

“I know your face.”

“You’re upside down.”

“That gives me a fresh perspective.”

Dick closed his laptop but did not ask anything immediately. That was his tell. He watched you lock the door behind yourself, watched you toe off your shoes into the little space beside theirs, watched your hand linger near your coat as if you had forgotten what came next. He knew when to step forward and when to let silence do the gentler work.

“Tea?” he asked.

Your throat tightened. “Please.”

“Drawer clothes first?” Wally offered, still upside down. “Or dumpling first? Choose wisely. One path has elastic waistbands. The other has delicious filling.”

You looked at the takeout container on his stomach. “Those are the emotionally marked dumplings?”

“Emotionally, yes. Legally, they belong to the household.”

“You are the one who threatened me over them five minutes ago.”

“I was a different man five minutes ago.”

Dick stood, taking your coat before you could decide where to put it. “Go change. I’ll make the tea.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I know.”

That was the thing about them. They were always making room for you without turning it into a debt.

You went to the bathroom first, because the evening still clung to your skin in the form of expensive restaurant air and Evan’s cologne from when he had leaned too close to show you a photo you had not asked to see. Their bathroom looked less like a bachelor apartment than it had any right to. That was partly because Dick liked order and partly because you had slowly bullied both of them into owning more than one towel. Your toothbrush sat in the cup between theirs. Your cleanser was on the sink. Your hair ties lived in a small ceramic dish Wally had once knocked over, caught, and then bowed to like he had rescued a civilian from certain death.

You washed your face, breathed until your chest stopped feeling tight, and went to Dick’s room because that was where your drawer was.

It should have felt strange. Sometimes it did, but only in moments like this, when you were already raw and tired and too aware of the fact that your underwear sat folded beside one of Dick’s old Gotham Academy shirts.

You peeled yourself out of your date clothes, piece by piece, bra included, and dropped everything into the hamper, as if shedding the evening might make it stop clinging to your skin. Then you dug through the drawer until you found one of Dick’s shirts, soft from too many washes and big enough on you that you didn’t bother with shorts.

It smelled like him in a way that made your chest ache a little: clean citrus, worn leather, cedar cologne, warm skin, and city air after rain. The hem fell halfway down your thighs, familiar enough to loosen something behind your ribs.

Ownership had become a loose concept among the three of you anyway. Half the clothes in this apartment had passed between hands so many times that claiming anything outright felt pointless.

You told yourself not to think about that.

It worked for almost forty seconds.

When you came back out, Dick had made your tea exactly how you liked it and set your mug on the coffee table. Your mug, because of course he knew which one was yours without asking. It sat warm beside the dumplings, filled exactly the way you liked it, and something about that hurt more than the date had.

Wally had righted himself by then, though his hair looked ridiculous from hanging upside down. He patted the cushion between himself and Dick. “Designated recovery spot is open.”

“You’re making it sound dramatic.”

“I’m emotionally preparing to commit crimes against Evan’s router. Let me have my process.”

You picked up your tea instead of sitting. “You don’t even know his last name.”

“I can work with a first name and vibes.”

“That is not reassuring.”

Dick’s mouth curved faintly. “It shouldn’t be.”

You took one of the dumplings.

Wally gasped with theatrical betrayal, then nudged the container closer because he was incapable of committing to the bit if you were actually hungry. Dick shifted on the couch so there was space beside him too, casual enough that it did not look like an invitation you had to accept.

You ate the dumpling standing up because sitting down felt too much like admitting the date had gotten to you. Wally watched you chew with the concerned intensity of someone waiting for a bomb squad report. Dick said nothing at all, which was worse, because Dick knew when silence would get more out of you than pressure.

Eventually, you sighed. “It was just disappointing.”

Wally’s face softened. “That’s worse than hateable.”

“Is it?”

“Yeah. Hateable gives me something to do. Disappointing just makes me want to feed you and maybe commit a small act of Wi-Fi sabotage.”

“That is not a proportionate response.”

“I said small.”

Dick leaned back against the couch, one arm stretched along the back cushions. He was in an old T-shirt and sweatpants, hair still damp from a shower, bare feet tucked beneath the coffee table, already folded into the quiet rhythm of the apartment. He looked warm and human and untouchably handsome in a way that made you want to be irritated with him on principle.

“What happened?” he asked.

“Nothing dramatic.”

“That’s not an answer.”

You looked at him over the rim of your mug. “He was fine. He asked questions. He laughed at appropriate moments. He checked his phone every time I spoke for more than thirty seconds.”

Wally grimaced. “Immediate jail.”

“He was nice enough.”

“Jail.”

You huffed, but the laugh did not last. “Then he started asking about you two.”

Dick’s expression changed first, not dramatically, but enough for you to notice. Wally sat up straighter, the dumpling container tilting until you steadied it with your knee.

“What kind of asking?” Dick said.

“The kind where curiosity turns into suspicion because I mentioned you too much.”

Wally blinked. “You mentioned us?”

“You built my bookshelf, Wally. It came up.”

“I built it beautifully.”

“One shelf leans.”

“That shelf has character.”

Dick’s gaze stayed on you. “What did he say?”

You shrugged, but it felt thin even to you. “He said it sounded intense.”

Wally’s humor faded.

Dick did not move, but the room seemed to shift around his stillness. “And?”

“And I realized I didn’t want to explain you guys to someone who had already decided you were a problem.”

For a moment, neither of them answered.

The silence was not awkward. It was just full. Full of every late-night call they had answered, every time one of them had walked you home, every takeout order split three ways, every old fear you had swallowed when they were out and the news was bad. Full of your toothbrush in their bathroom and your clothes in Dick’s dresser and the fact that Wally knew your favorite cereal changed its recipe six months ago because you had complained about it once and he had treated it like a civic emergency.

You moved to the couch because standing suddenly felt ridiculous.

Wally shifted at once, making space for you between them. Dick did the same from the other side, both of them adjusting without speaking until your usual place was waiting. You sat down with your tea balanced between your hands and tried not to think about how familiar it felt to have Wally’s knee against yours and Dick’s arm stretched along the cushion behind you.

“Did he make you feel unsafe?” Dick asked.

“No.”

“Good,” Wally said, too quickly.

You glanced at him.

He held up both hands. “Emotionally disappointing men are still on thin ice, but I’m glad he didn’t make it worse.”

“He didn’t make me feel unsafe,” you said. “He just made me feel…observed badly.”

Dick’s brows drew together.

“You and Dick observe people professionally,” Wally said, because of course he knew exactly where your mind had gone. “That’s different.”

“It should be creepy that you know that.”

“I contain multitudes.”

Dick’s thumb moved once against the back of the couch, close enough that you felt the motion near your shoulder. “What do you mean by observed badly?”

“I mean he looked at me like he was trying to figure out what role I could play. Good listener. Pretty enough. Convenient. Available.” You stared into your tea. “And I kept thinking that maybe that’s what dating is now. Figuring out which version of yourself someone wants and deciding if you can tolerate being her for a dinner.”

Wally made a quiet sound under his breath, almost angry.

Dick said your name softly.

You hated that. Not because he had done anything wrong, but because he said it like he knew you. Like there was nothing you had to perform for him to care.

You wrapped both hands around the mug before they could give you away. “Can I ask you something?”

Wally’s knee pressed more firmly against yours. “Always.”

Dick’s attention sharpened. “Of course.”

You should have asked something else. You should have asked whether they wanted to watch a movie, whether Wally had eaten anything other than dumplings, or whether Dick’s laptop meant casework or Wayne Foundation work. There were safer questions in the world. You knew plenty of them.

Instead, you held your mug a little tighter and asked, “How do you know if a man really wants you?”

The apartment went quiet.

It was not the ordinary quiet of late night, when the city hummed beyond the windows and the refrigerator clicked on in the kitchen. It was not even the dangerous quiet you knew from them when a case followed them home and sat heavy in the room. 

This was different. This was the kind of silence that came from two men who had both reached for an answer and found it lodged somewhere too close to the heart.

Wally stopped moving first. That was how you knew you had done something terrible. Wally was motion even when he was still, all restless fingers and bouncing knees and little shifts of energy that made the air around him feel alive. Now he sat frozen, his eyes fixed on you like you had said his name in a language he had not expected you to know.

Dick’s stillness was less obvious but more frightening. His hand paused on the back of the couch, fingers curled loosely into the cushion. His face did not change much. Dick had been trained by too many people, hurt by too many people, loved by too many people he had lost. His control was a beautiful, terrible thing. But you were close enough to notice the small things: the slight dip of his chin, the inhale he did not finish, the way his gaze flicked to Wally before returning to you.

You looked between them.

Then, because your mouth had apparently decided to ruin your life, you said, “Wow. I may have asked the wrong men.”

Wally laughed once, breathless and strange. “Yeah.”

Dick’s voice was quieter. “Maybe not.”

The words landed softly. That made them worse.

You stared at him.

Dick looked away first, which he almost never did. He looked toward the window, toward the city beyond it, toward the version of himself that could leap off rooftops and still not know how to answer one honest question in his own living room.

“What do you mean by wants you?” he asked.

It was such a Dick question. Careful. Precise. A way to create structure when the floor had begun to tilt. You could have let him have it. You could have narrowed the conversation into something clinical and survivable.

You did not.

“I mean me,” you said. “Not just sex. Not just attention. Not someone who likes that I’m available or convenient, or that I listen well. How do you know when he actually wants you?”

Wally dragged a hand down his face. “That is a dangerously sincere question for a room where I was just upside down with dumplings.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be.” He looked at you then, really looked, and the humor in him had gone soft around the edges. “He remembers things.”

You blinked. “What?”

“A man who really wants you remembers things he doesn’t get credit for remembering.” Wally’s fingers flexed against his thigh. “The little stuff. The song you skipped three seconds in because it made your face do that thing. The restaurant you said was overrated even though everyone else likes it. The way your voice changes when you’re about to say you’re fine and you absolutely aren’t.”

Your throat tightened.

Wally shrugged like he could make the answer casual if he moved enough. He could not. “He pays attention when there’s nothing in it for him. That’s a big one, I think.”

You looked at Dick because you had to look away from Wally.

Dick’s expression had changed. Something careful had cracked in it, enough for you to see the want beneath. Not lust, though that was there too, impossible to miss now that you were looking directly at it. This was older. Quieter. It had roots.

“He becomes more careful,” Dick said.

Your chest hurt.

“Careful how?”

“With you.” Dick’s gaze held yours. “With what he asks for. With what he takes for granted. Wanting someone is easy. Most people can do that part. But if he really wants you, he cares what his wanting costs you.”

Wally was watching him now too.

Dick’s mouth tightened, like he had already said more than he meant to and still could not stop. “He doesn’t make you responsible for managing his desire. He doesn’t punish you for not returning it the way he hoped. He doesn’t turn your kindness into permission.”

The room felt too small around you.

You thought of all the times Dick had walked you home without making you feel like you were being escorted. The way he always matched your pace, whether you were in heels after an event or slippers on a late-night corner store run. The way his hand hovered near your back in crowded places but never settled unless you leaned into it first. The way he noticed when men looked at you too long and somehow placed himself between you and them without making a scene.

You thought of Wally texting you pictures of six different cereal boxes from the grocery store because you had mentioned once, weeks earlier, that your childhood favorite had changed its recipe and tasted wrong now. You thought of him showing up with soup before you admitted you were sick. You thought of him lying on your living room floor, assembling your bookshelf at human speed because you had accused him of cheating, laughing every time you handed him the wrong screw.

He remembers things.

He becomes more careful.

You had asked for a hypothetical answer.

They had handed you a mirror.

Your laugh came out too soft. “You both got very serious.”

Wally swallowed. “Yeah. Occupational hazard.”

“Is it?”

“No,” Dick said.

Wally shot him a look, half warning and half relief. Dick ignored him, because of course he did. Courage was easier for him when it looked like stepping off a ledge.

“No?” you asked.

Dick leaned forward, forearms braced loosely on his knees. “It’s not an occupational hazard. It’s you.”

The silence after that was different.

Wally closed his eyes briefly. “Well. Okay. We’re doing this.”

Dick did not look away from you. “Only if she wants to.”

Your heart was beating too hard. You wondered if Wally could hear it. Of course he could hear it. He could probably hear your pulse trying to kick its way out of your throat.

“You’re doing what?” you asked, though you knew.

Wally opened his eyes. There was fear in them, which seemed impossible and then immediately made too much sense. Wally West could run faster than light. He could cross cities between heartbeats. He could laugh in the face of gods and monsters and still sit in front of you terrified because this mattered.

“Answering honestly,” he said.

Dick’s gaze flicked over your face with agonizing care. “We didn’t want to put this on you.”

“This?”

“You know what he means,” Wally said, softer than his usual voice. “Us. How we feel. How long we’ve felt it.”

“How long?”

Dick exhaled. “Long enough that I don’t know how to answer that without incriminating myself.”

Despite everything, a laugh escaped you.

Wally looked almost offended. “Oh, he’s being conservative. I can incriminate us both in detail.”

“Wally.”

“What? She asked.”

“I asked how long,” you said.

Wally looked at you, and for once, he did not rush. “For me, it crept up. One day you were asleep on the couch wearing Dick’s sweatshirt and my socks, and you woke up just enough to tell me I had to stop eating chips directly over your head or you were going to haunt me after death. And I thought, oh. This is probably permanent.”

Your heart did something foolish.

Dick looked down, his thumb moving over his knuckles. “For me, it was after the bridge incident.”

You frowned. “That was two years ago.”

“I know.”

Wally’s expression softened, but he let Dick speak.

Dick’s voice remained steady, though not untouched. “You were furious with us.”

“You both disappeared for eighteen hours.”

“We had comms trouble.”

“There was a collapsed building.”

“Also that.” His mouth curved faintly, then faded. “When we got back, you yelled for fifteen minutes. You had three different news feeds open, a first aid kit on the table, and you were shaking so hard you had to put the kettle down because you almost dropped it.”

“I remember.”

“You told me I didn’t get to treat my life like collateral damage just because I was good at surviving.” Dick looked up. “Most people are relieved when we come back. You were relieved too, but you were angry before you were grateful. You loved us enough to be angry.”

You could not breathe properly.

“Dick.”

“I know.” He gave you a small, helpless smile. “Bad timing.”

“Historically, our brand,” Wally said, but his voice was too gentle to turn it into a joke.

You looked between them. The question you had not asked sat in the room with the rest of you, breathing steadily. It should have been the difficult part, maybe. Two men. Two best friends. Two confessions. But there was something in the way they sat, angled not only toward you but toward each other, that made the answer less impossible than it should have been.

“Both of you?” you asked.

Dick nodded.

“We know,” Wally said.

“And you’re…okay with that?”

Wally’s eyebrows rose. “With Dick having taste? Occasionally.”

Dick huffed despite himself.

You stared at them until Wally’s smile softened.

“We talked about it,” he said. “Badly at first. Then better.”

“When?”

“After the bridge,” Dick said.

“Before that,” Wally corrected.

Dick glanced at him.

Wally lifted a shoulder. “You talked after the bridge. I started talking before that. You just did your emotionally constipated Bat thing and pretended my point had been theoretical.”

“There was nothing theoretical about you eating an entire pizza on my fire escape while telling me I was in love with our best friend.”

“Our best friend was inside making tea and wearing your hoodie.”

“You weren’t subtle.”

“Neither were you. You kept looking at her like she was an answer.”

Something in your chest split cleanly open.

Dick’s expression shifted, embarrassment and affection crossing it too quickly to hide. You realized, suddenly, that they had loved you in the same rooms where you had loved them, all of you careful in different directions, all of you pretending the shape of your life was normal because naming it would change everything.

“What about you two?” you asked.

Their silence lasted half a second too long.

Then Wally said, “Also complicated.”

Dick gave him a look. “It doesn’t have to be.”

“You say that now, but wait until I explain it using a metaphor about nachos.”

“Do not.”

You looked from one to the other. The pieces rearranged themselves with quiet, devastating clarity. The closeness that had always seemed natural because it was Dick and Wally. The way Wally’s hand lingered at Dick’s neck when he thought you were not looking. The way Dick knew Wally’s moods before Wally had done anything louder than breathe. The fact that Wally could steal food off Dick’s plate without losing fingers. The mornings you had walked into their kitchen and found them standing too close, both turning toward you with the same guilty-casual energy that had made you roll your eyes and reach for cereal.

“Oh,” you said.

Wally winced. “Good oh or bad oh?”

“I don’t know yet.”

“Fair.”

Dick leaned back carefully, giving you space without leaving. That was the worst part. The best part. The impossible part. Even now, with confession lying open between you, his first instinct was to make sure you did not feel trapped in a room where you had always felt safe.

“You don’t have to know tonight,” he said. “You came here after a bad date, and we are all sitting on a couch pretending this hasn’t been years in the making. This is not exactly a neutral environment for a life-changing conversation.”

Wally nodded solemnly. “Also, I’m still upside-down spiritually from the dumpling betrayal.”

“You offered me one.”

“I contain contradictions.”

You laughed again, and this time it broke something loose. Not the tension, exactly. That remained, but it warmed, softened at the edges by how deeply, absurdly yours they were.

“You were both just going to keep this to yourselves?” you asked.

Dick’s eyes returned to yours. “If that was what kept you comfortable.”

“That’s stupid.”

Wally pointed at Dick. “I said that.”

“Repeatedly,” Dick said.

“Because it’s true.” Wally looked at you with a fragile kind of hope. “But we also weren’t going to make you feel like this place came with strings. You sleep here. You have a key. You know the vigilante stuff. You know where we hide the good bandages and the terrible protein bars. That’s a lot of trust to mess with.”

You understood. That was the terrible thing. You understood too well. This apartment was your soft landing. It was where you came when the world had teeth. If they had said the wrong thing at the wrong time, if they had made you feel observed instead of known, the loss would have been enormous.

But they had not done that.

They had waited until you asked a question they could no longer answer without handing you the truth.

“Wally,” you said.

He sat up straighter. “Yeah?”

“Come here.”

Wally was already close, but he still moved like the distance mattered. His knee shifted against yours, his body turning toward you on the couch, and then he stopped with enough space left between you that it made your chest hurt. He was letting you close the last of it. He smelled like detergent, mint gum, and the clean, electric warmth that always seemed to cling to him.

“You’re shaking,” you said.

Wally huffed a laugh, almost embarrassed. “Yeah.”

“That’s unusual.”

“Lots of things are unusual right now.” His eyes searched yours. “But I’m here.”

You reached up and touched the side of his face. Wally went very still. He had leaned into you a thousand times before, his head in your lap during movie nights, his shoulder bumping yours in grocery aisles, his legs tangled with yours under Dick’s comforter after long days and worse dreams. This was different because you let it be different. You watched the realization move through him, bright and startled and almost painful.

“Can I kiss you?” you asked.

Wally’s breath caught. “Yes. Please. Very yes.”

You smiled despite the shake in your chest and kissed him.

For a man who could outrun almost everything, Wally did not rush you. His mouth met yours carefully, warmly, a little unsteady at first, like he had imagined this enough times to be shocked by the reality of it. Then your fingers slid into his hair, and he made a sound against you that turned the entire room molten. His hand came to your waist, stopped there, asked without words. When you leaned closer, his grip tightened just enough to make you feel the restraint in it.

He tasted faintly of mint and soy sauce.

He kissed like he had been waiting so long that patience had become its own kind of hunger.

When you pulled back, his eyes stayed closed for a second.

“Okay,” he said faintly. “That happened. I’m normal about it.”

“You are visibly not normal about it.”

“I’m experiencing multiple emotions at speeds previously unknown to science.”

Dick laughed softly from your other side, but when you looked at him, the humor in his face did not disguise the want. It made it worse, actually. Wally was bright with it, nearly vibrating under your hand. Dick was still, but his stillness had become charged, every line of him drawn tight around the effort not to reach for you before you asked.

You turned toward him.

Dick watched you come closer by inches, your knee shifting against his thigh, your hand settling carefully on the couch beside him. He did not move until you were facing him fully. Then his hands lifted, not touching yet, hovering near your hips. There he was again, careful even while looking at you like restraint was costing him something.

“Can I?” he asked.

You nodded.

His hands settled on you, warm through the borrowed shirt. Your breath left you unevenly.

“You’re sure?” Dick asked.

Your mouth curved before you could stop it. “Do you ask everyone that after they kiss someone you’re in love with?”

Wally made an incoherent sound behind you.

Dick’s mouth curved. “No.”

“Then yes.”

The first brush of his lips was soft enough to undo you. Dick kissed differently than Wally. He kissed like falling with control, like every angle mattered, like he could make gentleness as devastating as force if he paid enough attention. One hand slid to your back, the other staying at your hip. He did not pull. He invited, and somehow that was worse. You shifted closer on the couch until your thigh pressed against his, and his fingers flexed against your spine.

The second kiss was deeper.

Dick made a low sound when your hand found his jaw, and you felt it through his chest because you were close enough now, finally, to know what his wanting sounded like. Wally shifted behind you, and Dick’s hand tightened just slightly, as if the reminder that Wally was watching did not cool the heat but changed its direction.

You pulled away only enough to breathe.

Dick’s eyes were dark. “This can stop here.”

“It can,” you said.

Wally’s voice came from behind your shoulder, quieter now. “Does it?”

You looked over your shoulder at him. He was still on the couch, hair messy from your hand, one knee angled toward yours like he had started to move closer and stopped himself from asking for too much. His eyes stayed fixed on you with an openness that made the choice feel less like stepping into the unknown and more like coming home to a room you had somehow never entered.

You thought of your toothbrush in the bathroom. Your mug on the coffee table. Your clothes in Dick’s drawer. Wally’s texts. Dick’s hands. The bed you had slept in between them so many times, waking warm and safe and pretending your heart did not break a little every morning you had to climb out of it.

“No,” you said. “I don’t think it does.”

Wally inhaled so sharply that it was almost a laugh.

Dick’s hands tightened at your hips, and then he kissed you again, catching the small sound that slipped out of you before you could pretend it had not happened. You let yourself lean into him, let yourself feel the steadiness of his body and the warmth of Wally coming up behind you. Wally did not press in immediately. He waited until you reached back, found his wrist, and drew his arm around your waist.

His breath hit your hair.

“Oh,” he said softly.

You smiled against Dick’s mouth. “You keep saying that.”

“I keep learning things.”

Dick’s mouth brushed the corner of yours. “He’s a very committed student.”

“Top of my class,” Wally said.

“You once put Pop-Tarts in a panini press.”

“They were incredible.”

“They caught fire.”

“Briefly.”

You laughed, and Dick kissed the sound from your mouth.

🐦🗝️⚡

The walk to his bedroom should not have felt like crossing a border, but it did. You had walked that hall half-asleep, tipsy, sick, laughing, furious, worried. You had stumbled through it with a blanket around your shoulders after nightmares you blamed on bad movies and they pretended to believe you. You had leaned against the doorframe watching Dick fold laundry while Wally sprawled across the bed claiming moral support. You knew the creak of the floor, the shape of the room in the dark, the side of the mattress that dipped because Wally threw himself onto it with no respect for furniture.

Tonight, when Dick opened the door, you hesitated.

Both of them noticed.

“Hey,” Wally said immediately. “We can go back to the couch. Or stop. Or make tea. Or I can run to Canada and bring back those maple cookies you like, although I feel like that might be an overcorrection.”

You looked at him over your shoulder. “Canada?”

“Panic suggestion.”

Dick’s hand touched your back gently. “Talk to us.”

The words settled you. Not because they fixed the nerves, but because they made room for them.

“I’ve slept in this bed with you both a thousand times,” you said. “It feels strange that this is the first time I’m nervous.”

Dick’s expression softened. “It’s allowed to feel strange.”

“Good strange,” Wally added. “Hopefully. Eventually. Maybe right now it’s weird strange. We can work with weird strange.”

You smiled. “You are so bad at being reassuring.”

“I’m actually fantastic at it. You’re just seeing me under extreme conditions.”

Dick’s thumb moved once against your back. “Nothing happens unless all three of us want it.”

You looked at him. “All three?”

His gaze moved briefly to Wally, and something passed between them that was so familiar and intimate you wondered how you had ever missed it. “All three.”

Wally came closer, slower this time. “For the record, I want it. You. This. Him. Us. But wanting doesn’t mean I need to have it tonight.”

Your heart twisted. “That was almost smooth.”

“I have hidden depths.”

“You just brought up Canada.”

“Some of my depths are geographical.”

Dick’s laugh was quiet, fond, and beautiful. It loosened the last of the fear sitting beneath your ribs.

You stepped into the bedroom.

The room was exactly as you knew it. Dick’s bed stood against the far wall, too large for one person and too often occupied by three. The comforter was rumpled from the morning, because Dick made his bed only when stress turned him into a machine and Wally took personal offense at tucked corners. Your book sat on the nightstand beside Dick’s, a bookmark halfway through the chapter you had been reading three nights ago while Wally slept sideways across the foot of the bed.

There were pieces of you everywhere.

You turned to face them.

“I want you,” you said, and watched the words land. “Both of you. I don’t know exactly how this works yet, but I want to find out.”

Dick’s eyes closed briefly.

Wally’s smile trembled at the edges. “We can do finding out.”

“Slowly,” Dick said.

“Sure,” Wally said quickly. “Slow is great. Love slow. Big fan.”

You gave him a look.

“I can be slow,” he insisted.

Dick’s mouth tilted. “He can.”

The fact that Dick knew that should not have sent heat down your spine, but it did. Both of them saw it happen. Of course they did. Dick’s gaze sharpened; Wally’s breath hitched.

“Oh,” Wally said.

“Don’t sound so surprised,” you said, though your own voice had changed.

“I’m not surprised. I’m delighted. There’s a difference.”

Dick stepped closer, his hand finding your waist again. “Tell us what you want first.”

You swallowed. “I want you to stop looking like you’re waiting for me to vanish.”

That hurt them. You saw it.

Dick touched your cheek. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

Wally came up behind you, close enough that his warmth reached your back without trapping you. “Say that again in like five minutes. My brain needs repetition.”

You leaned back into him. His hands settled at your hips, then paused. You covered one with your own and drew it more securely around you.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you said.

Wally exhaled against your hair, and Dick kissed you again.

There was nothing uncertain in it this time. Dick kissed you like he had been given an answer and intended to honor it thoroughly. Wally’s mouth found your shoulder through the thin shirt, his breath warm, his hands careful at your waist. You were suddenly, dizzyingly aware of being between them. Dick in front of you, steady and beautiful, one hand at your jaw and the other at your hip. Wally behind you, restless energy banked into trembling restraint, his lips moving against the side of your neck as if he was learning what made you sigh.

You had been touched before. Wanted, even. But you understood the difference now with brutal clarity. Wanting, from them, did not feel like being consumed. It felt like being attended to. It felt like every breath you took mattered.

Dick drew back first, his fingers catching lightly at the hem of his shirt where it rested against your hips. “Can I take this off?”

It took you a second to understand.

Then you laughed, a little breathless. “It’s yours, I think.”

“It is,” Dick said, and there was something in his voice that made your stomach dip.

Wally’s mouth brushed your neck. “For the record, I fully support its current use.”

Dick’s gaze stayed on you. “And its removal?”

Wally hummed. “Also that.”

You started to lift your arms, but Wally’s hands tightened just slightly at your waist.

“Wait,” he said, then seemed to regret saying it when both you and Dick went still.

You turned your head enough to look at him. “Wait?”

“Not stop,” Wally said quickly. “Definitely not stop. I just—” He huffed a laugh against your shoulder, embarrassed and helpless. “I need to say something before my brain stops working.”

Dick’s expression softened. “That bad?”

“That bad,” Wally said.

You waited.

Wally’s thumb moved once against your hip, brushing the bare skin beneath the hem of Dick’s shirt. “You know we love how comfortable you are here, right?”

Your breath caught at the sudden softness in his voice.

“This is your place too,” he said. “Not officially, maybe, but in all the ways that count. Your mug is in the kitchen. Your toothbrush is in the bathroom. Your clothes are in Dick’s dresser. You come over and change into one of our shirts like it’s nothing, like you trust us so much you don’t even think about it anymore.”

Dick’s hand stilled at your waist.

Wally swallowed. “And we love that. We really, really love that.” His voice dipped, turning rougher. “But sometimes you walk around in one of our shirts and those little sleep shorts, or no shorts, or you reach up for something and we see the edge of your panties, and I swear to God, I have almost died in this apartment more times than I have in the field.”

Your face went hot.

“Wally,” Dick said, but the warning was ruined by the strain in his voice.

“What? We’re being honest tonight.” Wally’s mouth brushed the corner of your jaw. “You bend over to look for something in the fridge. You fall asleep with the shirt riding up your thighs. You sit on the counter in socks and underwear and one of Dick’s old shirts, drinking tea out of that chipped mug, and we both have to stand there acting like our souls didn’t just leave our bodies.”

You looked at Dick. “Both of you?”

Dick’s eyes met yours, dark and steady and helplessly warm. “Both of us.”

Something inside you tightened.

“It was never just the shirt,” Dick said, his fingers smoothing over the hem as if he had wanted to touch it like this for years. “It was that you trusted us enough to stop guarding yourself here.”

That undid you more than Wally’s words had.

“Oh,” you said softly.

Wally let out a shaky breath. “Yeah. That too. I was getting there.”

Dick’s mouth curved, but his gaze stayed on you. “Can I take it off?”

This time, when you lifted your arms, neither of them stopped you.

Dick pulled the shirt over your head slowly, careful not to let the fabric catch. The air touched your skin, and both men went quiet again. Not silent in that fearful way from the living room, but quiet with attention. Wally’s hand spread over your stomach, warm and reverent. Dick’s gaze moved over you with visible effort, not lingering anywhere you had not invited yet and somehow making that restraint feel more intimate than staring would have been.

“You’re beautiful,” Dick said.

It was simple. It should not have undone you.

Wally kissed your shoulder. “So beautiful.”

Your instinct was to deflect. Make a joke. Tell Wally his taste had been damaged by eating cereal out of a saucepan. Tell Dick he was legally obligated to say nice things because he had known you too long. You had a dozen exits ready, all of them familiar.

Dick seemed to know. His thumb touched your lower lip before the joke could leave it.

“Let us say it,” he murmured.

Your chest ached. “Okay.”

Wally’s arms tightened around you for half a second. “Good. Because I’ve got years of material.”

“Wally.”

“What? I’m pacing myself.”

Dick looked at him over your shoulder, and the warmth in his expression made your pulse skip. “Are you?”

“Badly.”

You turned your head and kissed Wally before he could say anything else. He made a pleased sound, hands flexing at your waist, and Dick’s fingers drifted down your side with aching care. The kiss turned messy faster than the first one. Maybe because there was so little between you already. Maybe because Wally’s self-control had limits, and one of them was apparently you turning in his arms to lick into his mouth while wearing only your panties, with Dick close enough to touch you both.

Dick’s hand slid over your ribs and stopped just below your breast, asking without words.

You broke the kiss with Wally, breath unsteady. “You can.”

Dick lifted his eyes to yours. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

His hands covered you, palms warm beneath your breasts, thumbs brushing softly until your breath caught. Wally watched over your shoulder, eyes dark and bright at once, then lowered his mouth to yours again as Dick touched you. It was too much and exactly enough. Wally kissed like he wanted to swallow every sound you made; Dick touched like he wanted to discover them one by one.

Your hands found Dick’s chest. He was warm under your palms, solid and familiar in a way that made the moment feel more dangerous than if he had been a stranger. You knew this body in a dozen almost-innocent ways. You knew the weight of his arm thrown across your waist in sleep, the pressure of his shoulder against yours in a crowded booth, the warmth of him behind you when he reached over your head for a cabinet because he enjoyed being obnoxiously tall.

Now your hand slid over his heartbeat, and he went still beneath your touch.

“You okay?” you asked.

Dick caught your wrist and brought your hand to his mouth. “Yes.”

“Will you tell me if that changes?”

That made him pause.

Wally, to his credit, did not make a joke.

Dick’s expression changed, and you saw him understand what you were really asking. You had spent too long loving men who treated their limits like suggestions. You were not asking as someone about to sleep with him. You were asking as the person who knew that care had to go both ways, or it would become another kind of burden.

“I will,” he said. “Tonight, I will.”

You searched his face. Then you nodded.

Wally touched your waist. “Me too. For anything. I know I can be a lot.”

“You are a lot.”

“True.” His mouth curved, but his eyes stayed serious. “I’ll tell you.”

“Good.”

“Hot when you boss us around,” he said, then immediately looked like he had startled himself.

Dick’s eyebrows rose. “Is it?”

Wally pointed at him. “Do not psychoanalyze me while she’s topless.”

You laughed, and the sound turned into a gasp when Dick dipped his head and kissed the curve of your breast. Wally’s humor dissolved at once. His mouth parted against your temple, and his hand slid up your ribs, stopping just below where Dick’s mouth moved. Dick looked up at you through his lashes, checking. You nodded, and then his tongue touched your nipple.

Your knees nearly failed you.

Wally caught you with a soft, reverent curse. “Okay. Bed. Bed is good.”

Dick smiled against your skin. “Slow?”

“Slow can happen horizontally.”

That made you laugh again, but your laugh broke when Dick did it again, warmer this time, lips closing around you before Wally guided you carefully back toward the bed. Dick moved with you, one hand steady at your hip, unwilling to let the contact break until the mattress touched the backs of your legs.

You had climbed into Dick’s bed in every state except this one.

That thought followed you down onto the mattress. It was familiar beneath your back, the comforter soft against your skin, the pillows smelling like Dick’s shampoo and Wally’s habit of stealing them. How many nights had you lain here between them, your body relaxed in sleep while your heart carried secrets your waking self refused to name? How many mornings had you woken with Wally’s arm thrown over your waist and Dick’s hand near yours, all of you pretending it was only comfort?

Now Dick knelt beside you with want written plainly across his face, and Wally settled near your other side, vibrating with the effort to give you time.

You looked at them and felt something in you steady.

“Pants,” you said.

Wally looked down at himself. “Mine?”

“Both.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Dick shook his head, smiling as Wally nearly tripped getting out of his sweatpants. Dick moved more deliberately, his gaze never leaving yours as he hooked his fingers in the waistband of his own. He stopped before pushing anything down.

“Still okay?”

“Very okay.”

Wally had his pants off already because of course he did, all lean muscle and restless heat, his confidence lasting approximately one second before he noticed you looking and flushed. “Assessment received.”

Dick laughed, and you smiled despite the heat crawling up your neck.

“You’re both ridiculous,” you said.

“You knew that before you invited us to take our clothes off,” Wally said.

“Some mistakes deserve commitment.”

Dick’s mouth curved. “Is that what this is?”

You looked at him, at the softness under the teasing. “No.”

The answer changed the room again.

Dick pushed his sweatpants down. His underwear followed a moment later, and your breath caught despite yourself.

Dick noticed. Of course he noticed.

His eyes darkened, but he did not touch you. “Still very okay?”

“Yes.”

Wally popped up beside him, naked now and visibly trying to look patient. “Can I also get an assessment? For fairness.”

You looked at him.

Then lower.

Wally’s confidence abandoned him completely. “I am never going to survive this.”

“You run faster than light.”

“Emotionally, I am a Victorian maiden.”

Dick climbed onto the bed and kissed him, slow and familiar enough that your pulse kicked hard. Wally melted into it with a sound that told you more than any explanation could have. They kissed like people who had already crossed some lines privately and were now learning how it felt to let you see. When Dick drew back, Wally’s mouth stayed parted for half a second, his eyes opening slowly.

You stared.

Dick looked at you. “Good oh?”

You realized you had made a sound. “Very good oh.”

Wally beamed. “Excellent. Love to contribute.”

You reached out and touched Wally’s knee. “Come here.”

He came immediately, but the joking faded as soon as your hand slid up his thigh. His skin was warm, almost feverish, muscles tense beneath your touch. He watched you like he could not decide whether to move closer or hold himself perfectly still.

Dick shifted behind you, gathering you with him as he settled back against the headboard and drew you gently between his legs. You leaned against his chest and felt his breath shift near your ear. His hands came to your waist, then lower, stopping at the edge of your panties like even now he was giving you time to change your mind.

“Can I take these off?” he asked.

“Yes.”

Wally’s gaze followed the movement as Dick slid them down your legs. The room went quiet again, not with hesitation this time, but with the weight of both of them finally seeing what they had been careful not to want too openly for years.

You started to close your thighs on instinct.

Wally’s hand touched your knee, not forcing, just there. “Hey. You don’t have to hide from us.”

The words went through you with embarrassing force.

Dick kissed the side of your neck. “He’s right.”

“This is new,” you whispered.

“I know.” Wally’s thumb moved gently over your knee. “We’ll earn it.”

Your eyes stung. You wanted to blame the long night, the bad date, the adrenaline crash, the way Dick’s mouth felt against your skin and Wally’s hand felt warm on your leg. But it was not only that. It was the tenderness. The promise beneath it. The sense that they had already decided your comfort was not a pause before desire but part of it.

You let your thighs relax.

Wally’s eyes dropped, and the breath he took was unsteady enough to make Dick’s hands tighten on you.

“Beautiful,” Wally said, softer this time. “God, sweetheart.”

The pet name slipped out like an accident.

You felt Dick go still behind you.

Wally’s eyes snapped to yours. “Too much?”

“No,” you said quickly, then softer, “No. I liked it.”

His smile came back slowly. “Yeah?”

Dick’s mouth brushed your ear. “She liked it.”

The words sent heat rolling through you.

Wally noticed that too. His pupils widened, and some of the carefulness in him sharpened into hunger. “Oh, this is going to be fun.”

“Wally,” Dick warned, but there was no real reprimand in it.

“What? I’m observing.”

“You can observe closer,” you said.

Wally’s gaze flew to your face.

Your pulse pounded. “If you want.”

His laugh was almost disbelieving. “If I want.”

Then he was between your thighs.

Still slow. Still careful. He settled on his stomach with his arms hooked beneath your legs, but he did not put his mouth on you right away. He kissed your inner thigh first, warm and lingering, then the other. His stubble grazed your skin. Your fingers twisted in the comforter, and Dick’s hands slid up to cover yours, lacing your fingers together.

“You can touch him,” Dick murmured. “He likes it.”

Wally’s eyes flicked up. “I like it a lot.”

Your hand found Wally’s hair.

His lashes fluttered.

“Oh,” you whispered.

Wally’s smile turned wicked and soft at once. “Yeah. That.”

Then his mouth touched you.

The first stroke of his tongue made your back arch against Dick’s chest. Dick held you through it, not pinning you, just anchoring you as Wally groaned like he had been the one given pleasure. His mouth was warm and wet, the pace unhurried in a way that made you think of his earlier insistence that he could be slow. Apparently he could, when it mattered. He learned you with devastating focus, licking gently at first, then firmer when your hand tightened in his hair and your breath broke around his name.

Dick’s mouth moved along your throat. “Tell him what feels good.”

“Keep doing that.”

Wally made a muffled sound of approval.

“More specific,” Dick said, and you could feel his smile against your skin.

You would have elbowed him if you had been capable of coordination. “You’re annoying.”

“You’ve said.”

Wally lifted his head just enough to speak, lips wet, eyes bright. “You can pull my hair. For specificity.”

You did.

His eyes closed, and the sound he made was obscene enough that your entire body clenched. Dick inhaled sharply behind you.

“Wally.”

“I’m good,” Wally said, already lowering his mouth again. “I’m so good.”

He proved it.

There was no room left for embarrassment after that. Wally ate you out like attention was devotion, like every reaction mattered, like he had all the time in the world and intended to spend it between your thighs. Dick held your hands and whispered praise against your neck, his voice low and rougher than usual. Good. Like that. You’re doing so well. He loves that sound. We both do.

We.

The word sent you over the edge.

You came with Wally’s name in your mouth and Dick’s hands holding yours. Pleasure rolled through you in bright waves, your thighs trembling around Wally’s shoulders as he worked you through it with gentler strokes until you tugged at his hair because it was too much. He stopped immediately, pressing one last kiss to your thigh before lifting his head.

His mouth was shiny. His expression was wrecked.

“Okay,” he said, voice hoarse. “So. That’s my new favorite thing.”

Dick laughed against your shoulder. “You look proud of yourself.”

“I am proud of myself. Did you see that?”

“I was here.”

“You should compliment me.”

“You did very well.”

Wally looked delighted. “Thanks, babe.”

The casual endearment between them hit you almost as hard as the orgasm had. Dick seemed to feel you react, because his fingers stroked over your knuckles.

“Still with us?” he asked.

You nodded, breathing unevenly. “Very much.”

Wally crawled up your body, stopping when his face was near yours. He hesitated, suddenly uncertain. You understood a second later and pulled him down into a kiss. You tasted yourself on his mouth, and the intimacy of it made him shudder.

Dick’s hand slid into Wally’s hair from behind you, drawing him closer. Wally broke from your mouth only to turn toward him, and then they were kissing over your shoulder.

You stopped breathing.

You had seen them touch before. You had seen Wally throw himself onto Dick’s back, Dick catch Wally by the wrist, the two of them lean into each other with the exhausted ease of men who trusted each other down to the bone. But this was not that. This was Wally kissing Dick with your taste on his tongue, Dick’s hand firm at the back of his neck, both of them making quiet sounds they had never let you hear before.

It should have made you feel like an outsider.

It did not.

Dick’s free hand found your waist, drawing you more securely against him even as he kissed Wally. Wally’s hand spread over your thigh. The circle held. The desire moved through all three of you, not divided but multiplied.

When they separated, Wally rested his forehead against Dick’s for a moment.

“Still okay?” Dick asked him.

Wally smiled. “Yeah. You?”

Dick nodded.

Then both of them looked at you.

You swallowed. “I need a second.”

“Of course,” Dick said immediately.

Wally started to move back, but you caught his wrist.

“Not away. Just a second.”

His face softened. “Okay.”

Dick reached for the water bottle on his nightstand and handed it to you. It was yours, actually, one you had left there after a movie night and never taken home. That fact nearly made you laugh. Even during sex, this room kept offering evidence of how long you had belonged here.

You drank, then passed it to Wally. He drank too, then offered it to Dick, who took it with a grateful nod.

The domesticity of it settled your nerves more than anything else could have.

Wally wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, then seemed to realize what he had done and reached for the tissues. “Sorry. Not my most suave moment.”

“You had your mouth between my legs thirty seconds ago.”

“Great point. I’m suave again.”

Dick shook his head, but his smile was affectionate enough to make Wally glow.

You shifted carefully and turned between them. “We should talk before anything else.”

Both of them sobered at once.

“Okay,” Dick said.

Wally nodded. “Talking is good. Love informed consent. Big supporter.”

You took a breath. “Birth control is current. You both know that.”

They did. Not because it was erotic. Because they were part of your life in all the inconvenient, practical ways that made intimacy possible long before anyone got naked. Dick had driven you home after an appointment when a medication change made you nauseous. Wally had picked up your pharmacy order once when work trapped you late and then called from the aisle to ask if you wanted the good chocolate or the emergency chocolate, because apparently those were separate categories. They knew because you told them things. They knew because they listened.

Dick’s expression remained careful. “We know.”

“And you both get tested.”

“Regularly,” Dick said. “Last panel was clean.”

“Same,” Wally said. “Two weeks ago. I can show you the results if you want.”

“I trust you.”

Wally looked touched, then immediately tried to hide it. “I mean, I have a very trustworthy face.”

“You have a ridiculous face.”

“And yet.”

Dick’s hand covered yours. “We have condoms. We can use them, or not. Your choice. That choice can change at any point.”

Your throat went tight again. “I don’t want to use them.”

Wally inhaled.

Dick’s hand stilled.

“I want to feel you,” you said, and somehow that was more exposing than being naked between them. “Both of you. But if either of you wants barriers, that’s okay too.”

Wally’s voice was rough. “I don’t. I want what you want.”

Dick’s gaze stayed locked on yours. “Same.”

The word carried weight because Dick never gave agreement he did not mean.

You nodded, heat rising again now that the practicalities had been named. “Okay.”

Wally’s mouth curved. “Okay.”

Dick touched your chin, turning you gently back toward him. “One more thing.”

You smiled a little. “That sounded ominous.”

“It isn’t.” His thumb brushed your lower lip. “If we do this, tomorrow matters.”

Your chest softened.

Wally shifted closer, his hand warm on your thigh. “And the day after. And the day after that.”

“We don’t have to figure out every detail tonight,” Dick said. “But this isn’t just sex for us.”

“I know.”

“Do you?”

You looked at him, then at Wally. Their faces were open in different ways, Dick’s fear disciplined into tenderness, Wally’s hope bright enough to hurt.

“Yes,” you said. “I know.”

Dick kissed you then, and the conversation ended because the answer had been given.

You moved with him until he was propped against the pillows and you were straddling his lap. Wally sat beside you, one hand on your back, the other low on Dick’s thigh. The sight of them together beneath you nearly stole your nerve. Dick naked, hard against your stomach, his hair mussed and his mouth soft from kissing you. Wally close enough to touch you both, his mouth still swollen, his body tense with want he was trying very hard not to let run away with him.

You reached between you and wrapped your hand around Dick.

His head tipped back against the headboard.

Wally swore softly. “That’s unfairly pretty.”

Dick’s laugh broke into a groan when your thumb moved over the head of him. He was hot and heavy in your hand, controlled until he was not, hips twitching up before he caught himself.

“You’re going to let me do the work,” you said.

His eyes opened. “Bossy.”

“You like it.”

Wally made a strangled sound. “He does.”

Dick looked at him. “Wally.”

“What? We’re being honest tonight.”

You smiled and lifted your hips.

Dick’s hands came to your waist. “Slow.”

“I know.”

“No, I mean—” His breath caught when you rubbed him against you, both of you slick from Wally’s mouth and your own arousal. “God.”

Wally’s hand slid to your hip beside Dick’s, not guiding, just feeling the moment with you. “You okay?”

You nodded, lowering yourself just enough for the head of Dick’s cock to press into you. The stretch made your mouth fall open.

Dick’s hands tightened. “Breathe.”

You did, forehead dropping to his. He kissed you softly, again and again, until your body eased enough to take more of him. Wally’s mouth found your shoulder, his praise spilling warm against your skin.

“That’s it. Take your time. God, you look—fuck, you look so good.”

Dick made a sound like Wally’s words had gone through him too.

You sank down slowly, inch by inch, until Dick was fully inside you.

For a moment, nobody moved.

There were things you had imagined. Late at night, alone in your own bed. In their shower, feeling guilty and helpless and hungry. Half-asleep between them, Wally’s hand accidentally under your shirt and Dick’s thigh warm against yours. You had imagined Dick’s body over yours, Wally’s mouth at your neck, both their hands, both their voices. You had imagined enough to know desire.

Reality was different.

Reality was Dick trembling beneath you because you were wrapped around him and he was trying not to take more than you were giving. Reality was Wally pressing his forehead to your shoulder, breathing hard, as if watching was its own kind of contact. Reality was your own body clenching around Dick while your heart struggled to hold the impossible tenderness of having both of them here, wanting you, waiting for you.

Dick’s voice was nearly gone when he said your name.

You lifted your head. “Yeah?”

His eyes met yours. “I love you.”

The words struck all the air from the room.

Wally went still.

Dick looked like he had not meant to say it there, like the truth had slipped past every careful defense because his body was full of you and his heart had finally stopped obeying orders. For half a second, panic flashed across his face.

You kissed it away.

“I love you too,” you whispered against his mouth.

Dick’s hands shook on your waist.

Behind you, Wally made a small sound.

You reached back for him without looking. He caught your hand immediately, fingers threading through yours with almost painful force.

“You too,” you said, turning your head enough to see him. “I love you too.”

Wally’s face changed.

He had always been expressive, always bright, always too alive to hide much for long. But you had never seen this expression before. It was relief and hunger and disbelief and joy so raw it looked almost wounded.

“You can’t just say that while Dick is inside you,” he said, voice wrecked.

A laugh broke out of you, wet at the edges. “Why not?”

“Because now I’m going to cry while this hard, and I don’t know what to do with that emotionally.”

Dick’s laugh turned into a groan as your body clenched around him.

“Don’t laugh,” he said, strained.

“You started this.”

“I did.”

Wally kissed your hand, then your shoulder. “I love you. Obviously. Embarrassingly. To a degree that has made me annoying at multiple gatherings.”

Dick’s mouth brushed yours. “He was already annoying.”

“True, but love gave me range.”

You rolled your hips experimentally.

The joking shattered.

Dick’s head dropped back, throat exposed, a sound leaving him that you felt everywhere. Wally’s hand slid to your stomach, fingers splayed low as if he could feel where Dick was inside you. The pressure made you gasp.

“Okay?” Wally asked quickly.

“Yes. Don’t stop.”

His eyes darkened.

You moved again, slow because the stretch was still intense, because the softness of the moment had turned every sensation sharp. Dick’s hands helped you find a rhythm, careful but firm, his mouth moving over yours whenever you leaned close enough. Wally touched everywhere you let him. Your breasts, your thighs, your hips, the place where your body took Dick again and again. He watched with awe so naked it made you feel worshipped.

“Wally,” you breathed.

“I’m here.”

“Touch me.”

His fingers found your clit, slick and careful.

You cried out, folding forward into Dick. Dick caught you, one arm around your back, his mouth at your throat. Wally adjusted immediately, reading your body with the same attention he brought to everything that mattered. He touched you in slow circles while Dick moved beneath you in shallow thrusts, all three of you caught in a rhythm that felt less like performance and more like discovery.

Pleasure built differently this time. Deeper. Slower. Dick filled you, Wally’s fingers worked you higher, and both of them kept talking to you in broken, reverent fragments that made heat gather low in your belly.

So good.

There you are.

Beautiful.

We’ve got you.

That last one did it.

Your orgasm tore through you hard enough that your vision blurred. Dick held you while you shook, his own control breaking a second later as you clenched around him. He buried his face against your neck with a low, helpless sound and came inside you, his hands gripping your waist like you were the only solid thing in the world.

Wally’s hand slowed but did not leave you until you stopped trembling.

For several seconds, the room was nothing but breath.

Then Wally said, very quietly, “I think my soul left my body, and I wasn’t even the one inside you.”

You laughed into Dick’s shoulder. “You are such an idiot.”

“An emotionally supportive idiot.”

Dick’s laugh was quiet and wrecked. “He’s right.”

You lifted your head and looked at Wally. He was flushed, painfully hard, and trying very earnestly to look patient. It made your heart ache.

“Come here,” you said.

Wally blinked. “You need a minute.”

“I need you.”

His composure did not stand a chance.

Dick’s hands stroked your sides as you lifted off him carefully, both of you shivering at the loss. Wally vanished and was back almost immediately with tissues and a warm cloth, so fast you barely registered the absence before he was kneeling beside you again. The gesture was so tender, so practiced in its thoughtfulness, that you nearly dragged him down and cried into his shoulder.

He cleaned you gently, checking your face the whole time.

“Too much?” he asked.

“No.” Your voice came out soft. “Thank you.”

Wally kissed your knee. “Anytime. I mean, hopefully many times. But also anytime.”

Dick rested back against the pillows, watching you both with an expression that made you want to crawl back to him and never leave. “Wally.”

“Yeah?”

“Slow.”

Wally looked at him, then at you. His throat moved. “Yeah. I know.”

You reached for him. “I trust you.”

His eyes closed for half a second.

When he opened them, some of the frantic brightness had settled into something steadier. He kissed you as he moved over you, and for all his speed, for all his energy, he lowered you back against the mattress like you were something precious. Dick shifted beside you, one hand coming to your hair, his body warm along your side. He was not removed from this, not watching from a distance. He was with you, with Wally, kissing your temple while Wally settled between your thighs.

Wally pressed into you slowly.

Your breath caught at the new stretch, your body sensitive from Dick and still slick with him. Wally froze instantly.

“Okay?”

“Yes.” You touched his face. “Just slow.”

His laugh shook. “I can do slow.”

“I know.”

He eased in with visible effort, inch by careful inch, jaw clenched, arms trembling beside your shoulders. Dick’s fingers stroked through your hair, grounding you as Wally filled you. He was different from Dick, his body hotter, his restraint more visibly fragile. When he was fully inside, Wally dropped his forehead to yours and shuddered.

“Holy shit,” he whispered.

You smiled. “Romantic.”

“I’m sorry. My brain just left my body.”

Dick’s hand slid to the back of Wally’s neck. “Breathe.”

Wally obeyed. The sight of it, the trust in that single word, made you clench around him.

Wally groaned. “That was mean.”

“I didn’t do it on purpose.”

“Do it again on purpose later.”

Dick laughed, then pressed his mouth to your shoulder. “Move when you’re ready.”

It took a moment. Not because you were unsure, but because you wanted to feel it. Wally inside you, Dick beside you, both of them close enough that every movement belonged to all three of you. Then you lifted your hips.

Wally’s restraint nearly cracked at once.

He moved slowly because he had promised, but slow did not mean gentle in the way you had expected. It meant controlled. It meant every drag of him inside you was deliberate, every thrust measured by your breathing, every kiss pressed to your mouth like he was trying to keep himself tethered. His hand found yours and pinned it loosely to the mattress, fingers intertwined. Dick’s mouth moved over your neck, your shoulder, the curve of your breast, his hand returning to your clit when you started to whine with the need for more.

“You can take it,” Dick murmured. “We’ve got you.”

Wally’s rhythm faltered. “You can’t say things like that.”

“She likes it.”

“I know she likes it. I like it. That’s the problem.”

You laughed, but it turned into a moan when Dick’s fingers circled faster. Wally lowered himself more fully over you, careful not to crush you, his breath hot against your mouth.

“I’ve wanted this so long,” he said, the words rough and unguarded. “Wanted you. Wanted us. God, sweetheart, you have no idea.”

“I have some idea now.”

“Not enough.”

His hips snapped forward a little harder, and your eyes rolled shut.

Dick’s hand paused. “Good?”

“Yes. More. Wally, please.”

Wally made a sound that was almost pained. “Yeah. Yeah, I’ve got you.”

He gave you more.

Not too much. Never that. But enough that the bed creaked beneath you, enough that Dick’s hand tightened in Wally’s hair and your nails dug into Wally’s shoulder. Enough that the careful, domestic room turned hot and damp and filled with the sounds of skin, breath, praise, the headboard tapping lightly against the wall with each controlled thrust.

Your third orgasm built too quickly. You tried to warn them, but the words dissolved. Dick understood anyway, because of course he did. Wally did too, because his mouth found yours and he swallowed the broken sound you made when you came around him.

He lasted maybe four seconds after that.

Wally buried himself deep and came with your name on his lips, shaking hard enough that Dick had to steady him with a hand at his back. You held him through it, legs wrapped around his hips, one hand in his hair and the other reaching blindly for Dick.

Dick caught it.

For a while, none of you moved.

Then Wally said into your neck, “I think I saw another dimension.”

Dick, exhausted and fond, said, “That was sex.”

“Agree to disagree.”

You laughed weakly. “Get off me before you crush me, speedster.”

Wally moved so fast he almost fell off the bed. “Sorry. Sorry. Are you okay? Did I—”

You caught his hand. “I’m okay.”

Dick looked at you, checking anyway.

You gave him a tired smile. “I’m okay.”

Only then did both of them relax.

🐦🗝️⚡

Aftercare, you discovered, was where their existing habits became almost unbearable.

Wally vanished and returned with warm cloths, water, one of Dick’s soft shirts, your sleep shorts, and a granola bar he seemed to have grabbed in a panic. Dick sat up enough to help you clean up, his touch careful and unselfconscious. There was nothing awkward in it. Or rather, there was awkwardness, but it did not come from shame. It came from the enormity of the change and the fact that Wally kept trying to do six helpful things at once.

“Stop vibrating,” Dick said.

“I’m not vibrating.”

“You’re making the lamp buzz.”

Wally looked at the lamp. It was, in fact, buzzing faintly.

He put both hands on his knees and inhaled. The buzzing stopped.

“Sorry.”

You reached for him. “Come here.”

He came.

Dick opened the shirt and helped you into it. It was one of Wally’s this time, old and soft, the collar stretched from years of use. Wally tucked the blanket around your legs with the solemn concentration of a man disarming a bomb.

“I can do that,” you said.

“I know.”

“You don’t have to fuss.”

Wally looked at you, startled. “Of course I do.”

Dick’s smile was small and helpless.

You looked between them and felt the truth of the night settle over you, quieter now but no less real. They loved you. They had loved you through laundry and takeout and bad dates and grocery lists. They had loved you in all the ordinary spaces where people usually missed the extraordinary. Sex had not created that. It had only opened the door.

Wally handed you the granola bar.

You stared at it. “Why?”

“Blood sugar.”

“I’m not the speedster.”

“No, but you did just have a very athletic evening.”

Dick closed his eyes. “Wally.”

“What? Accurate.”

You took the granola bar and threw it lightly at his chest. He caught it, grinning.

“Fine,” he said. “Water first.”

You drank because he looked like he needed you to. Then Dick drank. Then Wally finished the bottle and zipped out to refill it before either of you could object.

When he came back, you had settled under the blanket with Wally’s shirt falling soft against your thighs.

Wally paused at the edge of the bed, holding the full water bottle like an offering. “I’m still allowed back in, right?”

Your heart squeezed.

Dick’s expression changed too, something tender and pained moving across his face before he reached out and caught Wally by the wrist.

“You’re ridiculous,” Dick said softly. “Come here.”

Wally came.

He climbed into the bed with exaggerated care, like one wrong movement might disturb whatever fragile new thing had settled between you. You pulled him down by the shoulder until he was stretched out on your other side, warm and solid, his face tucked near your neck. Dick shifted closer behind you, his chest against your back, his hand settling over your waist.

The bed that had always fit three people now seemed to understand the difference before you did. Your body recognized them. The warmth, the weight, the steady presence of them on either side.

Tomorrow would require talking. Not the soft, breathless kind between kisses, but the real kind. Logistics. Boundaries. What changed in public, what stayed private, how to handle the fact that your best friends were also heroes with enemies and you were still the civilian with a key. There would be complications. Jealousy, maybe. Fear, certainly. Dick had enough trauma around love to fill a city. Wally felt things with his whole body and then tried to outrun the consequences. You had your own habits, your own defenses, your own fear of needing too much.

But tonight, you were in the bed you had already come home to a hundred times.

Tonight, Wally’s thumb moved slowly over your hip. Dick’s fingers threaded through yours. The rain finally started outside, tapping softly against the windows.

“I have a question,” Wally said.

You opened one eye. “If it’s about nachos, I’m leaving.”

“It’s not about nachos.”

Dick’s voice was dry. “That’s new.”

Wally ignored him. “What happens with the drawer?”

You frowned sleepily. “What?”

“Your drawer. In Dick’s dresser.” Wally’s expression was earnest enough that you almost believed this was a serious concern. “Does it remain your drawer? Does it expand? Do I get partial drawer custody? Because I would like to formally offer space in my dresser, but full disclosure, one drawer is mostly chargers and mystery cables, and one might have Halloween candy from last year.”

“Last year?” Dick asked.

“It’s sealed.”

“You’re disgusting.”

“I’m prepared.”

You laughed into the pillow. “My drawer stays where it is.”

Wally clutched his chest. “Favoritism.”

“You can have sock custody.”

His eyes lit up. “I do love your socks.”

“You stretch them out.”

“I have long feet.”

“You have normal feet at high velocity.”

Dick looked at you with a warmth so deep it almost hurt. “You know this is our life now.”

You smiled. “Arguing about drawer custody?”

“Among other things.”

Wally’s joking faded just enough. “Good?”

You looked at him, then at Dick. “Good.”

Dick squeezed your hand.

Wally pressed a kiss to your shoulder. “Say the staying thing again.”

Your chest softened.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

Wally exhaled against you like the words had given him somewhere to rest.

Dick’s eyes met yours over the top of your shoulder. In the dim light, with rain on the windows and love finally unhidden between you, he looked younger and older than usual. Less like Nightwing. More like the man who had left the lamp on for you. The man who had given you a drawer before he could give himself permission to say why.

Wally’s arm tightened gently around your waist, his thumb still moving in slow circles against your hip. He looked less like the Flash too, less like motion and lightning and impossible speed. More like the man who remembered your cereal, stole your socks, marked dumplings emotionally instead of legally, and asked you to say you were staying because he needed somewhere safe to put the hope.

Your chest ached with it.

You reached for Dick, and he came willingly, easing down until he could kiss you. Wally shifted with you instead of letting go, his hand staying linked with yours as Dick’s settled over both of them, fingers interlocking there against you.

Three bodies. One bed. The city beyond the glass.

For the first time all night, the silence did not ask anything of you.

It only held.

🐦🗝️⚡

The Wayne Manor grounds look a lot different at night, especially when you’re running for your life.

Your heart beats so hard in your chest you’re worried it’s going to burst, lungs aching horribly as you lean against a hedge and try and catch your breath. In the darkness, your hearing is sharpened just enough to make out the sound of nearby footsteps.

Dick’s voice rings out, sharp and dark and taunting. “Where are you? Don’t you want to play with us?”

The sound of it sends butterflies rushing to your stomach, a confusing mix of fear and excitement crawling up your spine. You side step along the perimeter of the hedge, deep breaths of cold air filling your lungs and soothing the burn.

You creep around the corner, risking a glance at where you heard his voice, only to come face-to-chest with the man. You flinch, the almost-glowing white of his mask sending shocks of fear into your chest.

You don’t even think—you just run, shoving yourself away from him, feet digging into the nearly frozen dirt so hard it hurts your ankles. He runs after you, his footsteps eerily quiet.

You swallow down your panic and try to keep your breaths even. He’s toying with you. You know that if he really wanted to catch you right now, he would. 

“What’s your plan here?” He chuckles darkly behind you, “you know you can’t outrun me.”

You say nothing, too focused on keeping one foot in front of the other. His voice sounds closer, forcing you to pick up the pace. You’re so caught up in escaping him that you forget entirely about Wally until he’s standing directly in front of you.

He braces you in his arms when you slam into his chest, using your momentum to trap you against him. You squirm in his arms but he’s too strong, keeping you contained while Dick approaches you slowly.

He toys with the knife in his hand. The silver of the blade meets the moonlight, long and sharp and waiting for you. You suck in a breath, and despite your fear, allow yourself to shrink into Wally’s chest.

They won’t hurt me, you remind yourself. But it’s hard to remember that when Wally’s grip on your body is ironclad and Dick is holding a knife two inches from your clavicle. 

“Well, well, well,” Wally laughs darkly, one of his arms locked around your waist while the other trails up your stomach. “Look what I caught, Dick.”

The tip of the knife presses into your skin through the fabric of your t-shirt. You hold your breath, flicking your eyes up to meet the eyes of Dick’s mask. He tilts his head at you in response.

You press your lips together. Dick’s hand fists your t-shirt, the knife in his other hand making quick work of the fabric. In an instant, it’s shredded to pieces and laying on the ground beneath your feet.

He groans, fucking groans, at the sight of you shirtless and writhing in Wally’s arms. “My god.”

Wally’s hand trails up your chest and meets the goosebump-ridden skin of your neck. His hand wraps around the sensitive skin, squeezing just enough to have panic flaring in your chest. 

Dick approaches you, sandwiching your body between his and Wally’s. His hand reaches up to grab at your bra clad chest, sucking in a breath. You shiver, suddenly grateful for them being so close to you that they block the cold October wind.

Wally hips grind into yours, hard on pressing into your skin through his robe. He dips his head into the crook of your neck, lips ghosting down your skin until finally his teeth catch at your skin and a gasp slips from your lips.

Dick’s blade finds its way to the seam of your pants, meticulously sawing through the threads that connect your button to your jeans. It pops off and falls to the ground with a soft thud and then the cold night air is meeting the sensitive skin of your panty line. 

You can feel the scrape of Wally’s canines on your neck, cold night air soothing the slight burn that follows. “So sensitive, sweetheart.”

A shiver rolls up your spine, snuffed out by Dick’s hand slipping into your pants, thumb rubbing over your puffy folds through your panties. A whine slips from your lips. Your knees shaking, Wally’s arms being the only thing keeping you from falling.

Dick yanks your pants to the ground, leaving you standing in nothing but your underwear. The tip of his knife presses into your stomach, just below your belly button, the sharp metal biting into your delicate skin.

You suck in a breath, subsequently sucking in your stomach to get a reprieve from his blade. It doesn’t hurt—not too much, at least—but the slight sting coupled with Dick’s hand between your legs is making you unbearably dizzy.

And then Wally is reaching around and grabbing the knife from him, his grip on your throat tightening to keep you from escaping. With his hands free, Dick wastes no time in ripping your underwear clean in half, letting the useless cloth fall to the ground with the remainder of your clothes.

You shake from the cold, curling in on yourself in Wally’s arms, only for Dick’s hands—entirely too cold to be touching the sensitive skin of your pussy—dip between your legs. 

“W-wait!” You push his hands away, suddenly very much aware of where you are, “we’re outside! A-anyone could see.”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Wally’s warm breath fans the side of your neck.

Dick laughs, breaking free of your grip like it’s made of paper and slipping his hand between your folds to thumb at your clit. You whine, legs quivering.

“Don’t act like you don’t like it,” his fingers trail the length of your pussy, index finger pushing ever so slightly inside of you. “I feel how wet you are.”

You reach out to grab at his hands again but Wally gathers both of your wrists into one hand, pulling them out of reach before you can react. You almost miss his hand on your throat as you twist your hands awkwardly in a half-hearted attempt to break loose.

“Stop struggling.” Wally warns, trailing the knife up to your sternum, “don’t you wanna be good for us?”

Dick drops to his knees in front of you, forcibly parting your legs so he can shove his face between them. He flips his mask over the top of his head, freeing his mouth. 

“So keen on helping us relieve stress earlier,” you can feel vibrations between your legs when Dick speaks. He pushes his finger all the way inside of you, “you’re not going anywhere now.”

You watch him with bated breath, holding back your moans as he fucks you with his fingers. His mouth finds its way to your clit, the warmth of it soothing you from the cold and tantalizing you at the same time.

Wally’s grip on your wrists remains iron clad as he ruts against you, his cock hard against the swell of your ass. Heavy breaths slip from your lips, catching on the cold night air in puffs of white.

Dick slips another finger inside of you, heat building in your tummy. You lean further into Wally, letting your eyes flutter close. For a moment, the world fades away and it’s just the three of you outside, Dick eating your pussy and Wally holding you.

And then Dick is pulling away with a grin, your slick coating his now swollen lips. “What do you say, Walls?”

You wish you could see the look on Wally’s face right now, but the diabolical glint in Dick’s eyes tells you all you need to know: they’re plotting something.

Wally lets you go and you’re stumbling forward on shaky legs. You spin around to look at them—Wally still masked, standing with his arms folded across his chest, and Dick, still on his knees.

“W-why’d you stop?”

Wally shrugs innocently. “You wanted to get away so bad, we’re giving you another chance.”

“Don’t tell me you’ve changed your mind now?” Dick chimes in.

It takes you another minute to get your bearings and register exactly what they’re saying. They want you to keep running, they want to keep chasing you. It would be laughable if your pussy wasn’t aching, if you weren’t so dizzy from the pleasure. 

Looking into Dick’s eyes, you know he needs this just as much as you right now. By the way Wally is almost vibrating, he does too.

You gather up your last bit of strength and you run. You run, naked and cold and unsure of where you’re even going, but you run. It takes a minute before you hear footsteps behind you—Dick’s, not Wally’s—but you keep running.

You run through the courtyard, through the hedges, trying to get back to the Manor. Back to warmth. Your heart is beating so harshly that it hurts but the frantic pump of blood through your veins is the only thing keeping you from freezing.

You make it to the front steps, so close to the door but so far, when Dick catches you by your waist and drags you into him. You kick out but Dick’s reaction time is, unfortunately, much faster than yours and suddenly he’s hauling you up into his arms.

The black fabric of his robe is warm against your naked body. You look over his shoulder to see Wally already there, the knife still clenched in his hand.

He offers Dick a nod before walking up and opening the door and then Dick is carrying you through the Manor. The whole trip to his room is a blur, the adrenaline and excitement making your head spin.

Dick tosses you on the bed, wasting no time in tugging off his robe. He’s still wearing his Nightwing suit beneath it, the tight fabric betraying him in showing you his growing hard on. Wally comes up behind him, ripping off the mask he’s been sporting all night to reveal red cheeks and an impish grin.

You brace yourself on your knees, straightening your spine in an attempt to size up the two taller men who are looking at you like they’re going to eat you alive.

You watch Wally as he strips, also still clad in his superhero costume. Under normal circumstances, you’d be all hot and bothered seeing them in costume, maybe even ask them to fuck you just like this. But now, dripping wet and hot and dizzy with need and high off of being chased, you’re about ready to beg for them to finish stripping.

Dick pulls you in for a kiss, his head clenched on the back of your neck like he’s worried you’ll run again. His tongue slips into your mouth, swiping along the back of your teeth. You whimper, clenching your thighs together.

The bed dips down and you can feel Wally behind you again, feel his bare skin on yours. His legs splay out on either side of you, and then his hands are on your hips and pulling you away from Dick.

You frown but let him brace you on his thighs, his hard cock poking through your folds. You look at Dick through your lashes to find him stripping, too, fisting his aching cock.

“C’mon,” Wally says breathily, “need to feel your pussy.”

You can feel the heat coming off of him, feel the hard muscles of his chest against your back as you prop yourself up on your elbows. You dip a hand between your legs, lining his cock up with your entrance before his hips are thrusting up, driving his length into you all at once.

You moan loudly, eyes squeezing shut. You’re wet enough that he slides in easily but the stretch still leaves you aching, walls forcibly pushed apart by his girth. Your walls clench around him, trying to adjust.

Wally sucks at the bare skin of your shoulder, his arms wrapping around your stomach to give himself a better grip. His thrusts are slow and deep and wanting, his cock fully inside of you with each one. 

Dick crawls onto the bed, blue eyes dark while he watches Wally fuck you. He crawls between both sets of legs, propping himself up on his knees. 

“Taking it so well, sweetheart.” He swipes two of his fingers between your legs, collecting the juices that drip out from where Wally’s fucking you, “being so good, letting us use you like this.”

He brings his fingers to your mouth, your lips parting on instinct before you start to suck on them. You can taste yourself on his fingertips, your tongue swirling around them.

His other hand strokes his cock against your pussy, his tip brushing against the sensitivity of your clit. “So well trained.”

Your face burns at that. 

It’s only now that you realize Wally’s gone still inside of you, his cock balls deep and unmoving. You squirm, trying to get some momentum back but his hold on you tightens, keeping you rooted in place.

“Don’t stop,” you whine, clenching up around him. “P-please don’t stop.”

One of his hands trails up to pinch your nipple, “patience, baby.”

There’s a pressure at your entrance and you look down only to find Dick lining up his cock with it, trying to stuff it in your pussy alongside Wally’s. 

You cringe. “That’s not gonna fit.”

Still, he pushes himself in, straining to even fit his tip inside of you. You take a deep breath, hands reaching for Wally’s forearms so you can dig your nails into them. 

Dick grins, “we’re gonna make it fit, sweetheart.” 

“Deep breaths,” Wally kisses the side of your head, “nice and slow. I know you can take it.”

You keep your breathing even, muscles relaxed as Dick slowly thrusts into your pussy. The stretch is almost unbearable, your pussy wrapped so tightly around them you swear you can feel every vein.

Dick catches your lips in a desperate kiss, doing his best to keep himself still while you adjust to the size of them. You let go of Wally, arms hooking around Dick’s shoulders instead as you brace yourself for what’s about to come.

It’s Wally that moves first, rolling his hips. It’s a tight fit, his cock moving so painfully slow inside of you, but even that has electricity racing up your spine. You clench up, legs locking around Dick’s waist.

Dick moves next, the two of them falling into a slow sort of rhythm has you arching your back and whining. Dick moves, then Wally, then Dick again, and the friction is almost too much for you.

Wally’s hand stays on your chest, rolling your nipple between his fingers. Dick’s hand is on your clit, rubbing slow circles in sync with his thrusts. You’re hot—too hot—and being stuck between them like this isn’t helping.

Wally speeds up, Dick following suit and suddenly they’re both pounding into you like it’s their last day on Earth. Your orgasm rolls over you embarrassingly fast, waves of hot white pleasure flashbanging you.

You go limp between them, both men continuing to fuck you through your orgasm. It takes you a minute to come back to yourself, your muscles weak and pussy dripping. 

Wally shifts you slightly to the side so he can kiss you and it’s only now you see what a mess he is. His hair is stuck to his forehead with sweat and he’s flushed all the way down to his chest. His lips lock against yours, a hand grasping your jaw tightly.

Dick lets himself fall into you, pressing the three of you tightly against the mattress. His face buries itself in your chest, mouth lazily nipping at your skin. 

The smell of sex is heavy in the air, both of them unrelenting as they chase their own highs. Wally’s kiss only gets more desperate, his thrusts getting lazier and then his hips are stuttering.

He bottoms out, shoving his cock as deep as he can, muscles straining as he tries to get himself even deeper. And then he’s finishing inside of you, hot cum filling your pussy, stuffed inside of you with the combined width of their cocks.

You gasp, Wally taking the opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth. It keeps you quiet while Dick keeps going, his own movements frantic. You’re grateful for Wally muffling your moans, even more grateful that the rest of the Bats are on patrol right now.

When Dick finishes, your mind goes blank. His and Wally’s combined seed fills you so much it almost hurts, your pussy so full you can barely think. 

Dick forces himself to prop his head up, looking at you through sweaty strands of dark hair. “Goddamn.”

Wally kisses your cheek, brushing the hair out of your face. “Did so good for us, baby.”

“So good,” Dick echoes, kissing your forehead, “how’re you feeling?”

“Full.”

They both laugh at that before Dick pulls out of you inch by inch. When he pulls out, all of the cum runs out, dripping down your thighs and onto the bedding below you. You feel strangely empty without him, the void almost hurts.

Wally goes to pull out but you clench up, grabbing at his forearm once more. “Can you,” your face heats up, “can we stay like this? Just for a little while?”

He nods, pushing himself back inside of you. Dick moves himself off of the two of you, laying himself down next to Wally. Keeping his cock nestled inside you, Wally rolls the two of you onto your sides, your face pressed into Dick’s chest.

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